


This Tornado Loves You [A Collection of Lizzington Drabbles]

by LovelyLittleFreckle



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Collections - Freeform, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Romance, fic prompts, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-17 09:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 7,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8139190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyLittleFreckle/pseuds/LovelyLittleFreckle
Summary: A collection of Lizzington drabbles, fic prompts fulfilled and shorter-length one shots.





	1. Shooting Gallery

**Author's Note:**

> [Written to fulfill a fic prompt: Red and Liz kissing while laughing]

Liz loved the way that summer felt when it gave way to fall, like cool little tendrils creeping on the breeze, reminding you to savor every bit of warm sunlight you could. When she was a child, that kind of weather always meant it was time for the county fair and it held a special place in her heart even after all these years in the city. 

She remembered fondly going with her cousins and Aunt June after three months of summer days spent at the lake. Well into their teens, they would run through the carnival at dusk under the bright lights, their noses and cheeks tanned and flushed in that way only summer sun can achieve. The night air would get chilly and they would con sweatshirts away from cute farm boys they’d been giggling with that summer, the fading twilight crackling with the adolescent potential for mischief and flirtation. 

“I miss carnivals,” she said with a wistful sigh as she looked at the farmland passing them by on the long highway bending for nowhere. She was reminded of the fair by some little tent tops over the horizon and the telltale late-evening glow of an open air stadium. They’d been on the run for a couple of weeks and it was really the first thing that felt like home to her, even if it was just some nameless town in yet another flyover state. The thought of red gingham table clothes and hand scrawled 4H posters and cotton candy made her heart ache sweetly and longingly.

Red turned on the little dirt road leading toward the lights. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, looking back as they kicked up a rooster tail of dust and gravel behind them. She looked over to see Red smirking. “Where are we going?”

“I can assure you,” he said. “This is mission critical.”

“We’ll be recognized!” she said, looking around at the trucks and Jeeps lining the field-turned-parking lot, cordoned off by strings adorned with tiny multi colored flags. Their practical and nondescript sedan was entering the one parking lot where it stood out like a beacon, bouncing over the gravel and maneuvering awkwardly but capably through the grass, past a sleepy looking attendant who tipped his baseball cap to Red.

“Are you not concerned that these people might have seen us on TV?”

“Lizzie we could be recognized buying gas,” he said, waving her off as he put the car in park.

“You cannot be serious,” she said as he casually got out of the car, leaving his hat and jacket on the driver’s seat. 

“Look at me! No hat, I’m unrecognizable!” he said, rounding the car to open her door. He extended a hand to her, bidding her to follow him. “Come on, Lizzie. There’s no harm in living a little.”

She could hear music across the field - the distant bass of the loudspeakers in the arena and the drone that embodied kind of fun you could only have at dusk in the mid-west.  
She disregarded his hand as she got out of the car and shut the door behind her. 

“Quit it with the formality,” she said, mockingly. “If this is like the Nebraska State Fair, we’ll be ankle deep in cow shit by the time we get to the gate.” 

“Oh that reminds me!” Red said, his voice rounding the corner toward glee. “Those giant Cow Chip Cookies they always have at these things. Obscenely huge, covered in chocolate, crudely named - it’s everything I love about the fair.”

“I can already tell that you’re going to absolutely wither up and die if you don’t find one, so I’ll keep an eye out,” she said as they crunched their way through the pea-gravel to the main road leading to the gate. There was no use hiding anymore the little thrill she felt ghost over her skin. It felt for all the world like home. 

They walked through the grounds, filled with little tents where the local country station was handing out bumper stickers and vendors were selling knock-off handbags that weren’t even attempting to feign legitimacy. At a sauntering pace they passed exhibition halls and vendor displays with Red stopping every time a sign advertised livestock or some display of small animals. It was getting dark and the larger animals were being led to their barns for the evening, sleepy and slow from a long day of being cooed at by children and their distracted parents. He was knelt down next to a small coop of white rabbits when she noticed the ambient near-daytime glow of the carnival catch the delight on face. The multicolored blinking lights from the ferris wheel illuminated his upturned lips and jovial cheeks. And it felt like being young again; falling in love just a little bit under the spell of the lights and music and crisp air. 

When he straightened up, she took his hand and began to lead him toward the carnival games and their brightly colored tarp backdrops lined with goldfish and oversized stuffed animals and off brand electric guitars. 

“Where are we going?” Red asked; she could hear his smile as she led him through the aisle. 

“Shooting gallery,” she said, looking back for just a moment at their clasped hands. 

As they approached the stand with it’s little counter and garishly colored targets, Red fished a $100 bill out of his wallet, handing it to the visibly impressed pre-teen running the stand. Liz grabbed Red’s elbow as if to say Are you kidding me?! 

“Sir we close in half an hour,” the boy said, holding the $100 bill at a bit of a distance, as if he’d just been handed document in Aramaic. “I don’t think we’ve got enough time to play this many rounds.”

“That’s quite alright,” Red said. “If you let us play for that half hour you can just keep the change, whatya’ say?” The boy nodded and sat back on the little stool, his smile wide as he shoved the bill into his apron. Red and Liz both took up their tethered rifles and as the game whirred to life, began leveling the little pop up figures as fast as they appeared, ducks and turtles and gophers all at varying speeds.

“That duck was mine!” Liz said, her voice excitedly shrill. “Stay on your side, you’re crowding me!”

“Focus on your shooting Lizzie, I wouldn’t want you to get distracted. Or start missing shots…” he said taunting. 

“How about you just worry about yourself, I saw you miss that gopher just now,” she said. 

The snapping of the shots melded into a staccato static, peppered with the dinging and whirring of the targets falling over and popping back. The little boy kept the game going, the scores on the board going well over the “888″ it was capable of displaying. His eyes danced from the targets to their faces to their triggers until well past 40 minutes had passed and the numbers blinked helplessly.

“I got one more minute before my boss comes over,” the boy said conspiratorially, pushing back his cap. “30 seconds each, best score gets whatever prize they want?”  
Red and Liz smiled at each other and Red put down his rifle, bowing to Liz, deferring the first turn to her. She could feel all the eyes on her as she popped and dinged her way to 700 points. 

“Your turn,” she said, motioning for Red to pick up his rifle. He squinted into the little makeshift sight and her eyes flickered from his face to the scoreboard and back again every few seconds until there was a cascade of dinging noises signaling that time was up. "678". He squinted at the sign in disbelief. Liz smiled and pointed to a small stuffed dog, claiming it while Red was still looking, slack jawed, at the numbers.

“Don’t worry,” she said, getting very close to his ear. “I won’t tell anyone.” They both began to laugh and as he put down his rifle she kissed him, both of their lips still stretched in smiles. She admired his eyes under the last moments of light from the Ferris Wheel and kissed him again, tenderly. 

“Thank you for this,” she said, quietly. And he nodded, his lips still curled with amusement. 

“C’mon,” she said, taking his hand. “I hear they give out giant cookies as consolation prizes.”


	2. Morning Sick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to fulfill fic prompt: Saying "I love you" while muffled from the other side of the door.

The unending nausea that accompanied morning sickness was one of the most desperate feelings that Liz had ever encountered. Any sudden movement, any smell, any mention of food set her off into a seasick feeling - which made traveling with Raymond Reddington difficult. The man seemingly spoke of nothing that didn’t involve food. She wondered for a brief moment as she stared dead eyed into the porcelain sink if he wasn’t testing her - trying to get her to say aloud what they both must have known for sure at this point: she was pregnant. 

Over fried eggs that morning he had described to her some jello dish that his mother made when he was young. The very thought of it… the saccharine sweetness, the sickening jiggle… it had never bothered her before but the thought of the cold, amorphous gelatin sliding down her throat triggered something in the pit of her stomach that she was getting to know all too well. 

She hated a stomach ache like nothing else. Before, when she’d had the odd case of food poisoning or a stomach flu, there were always a few moments where she could assess the situation. Minutes spent talking herself out of it, convincing herself she was fine… then, if she was lucky, there were a few moments of warning where cheeks get hot and prickly and she could feel her head filling with cotton. With morning sickness, nearly everything made her feel like retching immediately - she would bite down hard on her lip, willing away the queasy whirl that happened every time she passed a slightly dodgy candle or odd-textured food. 

“Excuse me for a minute,” she said, looking down at her eggs and feeling the blood rush back to her bottom lip where she’d been practically gnawing it white. Bless his heart, Red didn’t turn around from the stove where he was preparing his portion of eggs, just hummed an acknowledgement. 

She shut the bathroom door and turned on the cold water, pressing as much of it as she could into her face, and against her eyes. She shoved the fragrant hotel hand soap to the side, as far away as she could get it and left the water running. She looked down at the swirling water in the drain and concentrated hard. She breathed deeply, audibly… her lips slackened from her face as she continued to stare downwards with her head in her hands. 

A knock on the door. 

“Yeah?” she asked.

“I’m going to run to the vending machine at the end of the hall, would you like a Sprite?” Red asked. 

_Oh my god yes, like air. Sweet, sweet bubbles take the pain away._

“I would love a Sprite,” she said. “Thank you.” 

“Not a problem, I’ll be back in a moment.” 

“OK, love you.” She said, her words muffled by the door. 

She froze. 

She wasn’t thinking. Oh god, she hadn’t even been thinking. It was a knee-jerk. It’s what you say to the person you live with who takes care of you when you’re sick, that’s just what you do. It had slipped out. Oh my god. I just said I love you. To him. It wasn’t that she didn’t mean it. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel it. But she was going to let slip a casual I love you when they hadn’t yet even acknowledged their night aboard the container a few weeks ago? Even though they were living in the aftermath of it? 

There was silence beyond the door. She squeezed her eyes shut. 

She flipped off the water and listened for any sign that he might have heard her. She didn’t breathe. For a moment they stood on either side of the closed door, perfectly still. Silent. Treating the words she had just said like a skittish bird that had landed on their open window sill. 

“Love you too, Lizzie,” he said, from the other side of the door. “I’ll be back.” 


	3. Extremes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to fulfill fic prompt: "If you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes"

It was as if she had forgotten all the most basic tenants of undercover work, at perhaps the most important time: Always. Cover. Your. Tracks. She had been so shocked… maybe she had momentarily blacked out as well; though arguably not in such grand fashion as Red . When she heard him call her name from the other side of their safe house, she knew immediately what she had done. 

“Shit,” she muttered. “Shit shit shit.” 

She rounded the corner to find what she somehow already knew she’d find. He stood in front of her, eyes blown wide, holding the pregnancy test with its two pink lines. For a moment they looked at each other, stunned. He tucked his chin, emotion pulling down the corners of his lips. 

“Lizzie,” he said, his voice strangled. “Are you…”

“I was waiting… to tell you…” the words burst forward from her before she could let him finish. 

He steadied himself with his other hand, planted firmly on the porcelain sink. His knuckles turned white as his grasp began to take on his weight. His lips moved wordlessly until finally he found his breath. 

“…Is it mine.” His voice was only a whisper. And it wasn’t exactly a question. 

She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. And then, as if in slow motion, Red’s composure faltered. His eyes fluttered shut and he stumbled forward.

“RED!” she yelled, running to catch him just in time for the full weight of his body to slump against her, buckling her knees. She knelt until his head rested on her lap. “Red, wake up! Red!” She lightly slapped his face and his eyes finally blinked open. 

“Red?”

“What happened,” he asked, squinting into the harsh light of the brightly lit bathroom. 

“You fainted…straight into my arms,” she said, cradling his face and searching his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t want you to find out this way. I thought I’d thrown it away, I was just so surprised.”

“You know,” Red said with a low chuckle, “if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

 

 


	4. If You Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to fulfill fic prompt: "If you die, I'm going to kill you"

Red and Liz had been on the run for weeks and this had to have been the most rustic accommodation to date - and that was including the underground bar bunker. 

She thought she’d had everything all planned out; for weeks she had been squirreling away supplies that she thought she might need. Truck stops here and there, little market produce stands… hell, the flour had come from the underground bunker and he’d almost caught her sifting through it for weevils. It had started out of a strange hoarding instinct that she’d indulged since she was a child: keep anything that you think might be useful, you never know when it might come in handy. But her stashing tendencies took on a theme once she realized they would still be on the lam for Red’s birthday. Banana bread. 

Eventually she knew they’d have to get to a place with an oven. While he was asleep, she would have very limited time and would need to move quietly enough not to wake him. When they entered the little cabin the day before Red’s birthday, she was encouraged to see the tiny oven, but knew she’d have an uphill battle. The rooms were drafty and not the least bit insulated. The floorboards in the kitchen creaked, and that was going to be a serious issue. 

On the afternoon of his birthday, Liz watched him like a hawk for even the slightest sign that he might be tired. Finally his eyes began to blink slower and slower, his chin falling closer and closer to his chest. 

“Why don’t you get some rest, you look so tired,” she suggested. And with a mutter he agreed. 

She waited to hear the bed springs creak under his weight. Then she waited for them to stop. Soon, he was comfortable and from outside the door she could hear him snoring lightly. 

She turned the knobs on the oven, saying a silent prayer.  _Please work. Please. I just need half an hour._ She pawed silently through the pantries taking out an old metal bowl and a small baking pan. They were weathered and warped… but they would do the trick. 

She had begged the oft-mentioned banana bread recipe off of Dembe months ago and tried to replicate it from memory. She was halfway through mashing the bananas when she heard a pop behind her… and found the oven turned off. 

_No. No no no no no I need you. You can’t die._

Upon twisting the knob again, it popped back on and she finished pouring her batter into the pan. 

Another pop. 

_Goddamn it._

She twisted the knob again and she peered through the glass into the oven, now lit up again. She was frustrated now, and she muttered through gritted teeth. “And  _stay_ on. If you die, I’m going to  _kill you.”_

“Were you talking to me?” Red asked, peeking around the door. She turned around, startled, flour dusting her nose, resting in her disheveled hair. 

“I was… just saying happy birthday,” she said, the oven popping off again behind her. She closed her eyes against her frustration and pursed her lips. He smiled at her graciously. 

“Thank you Lizzie,” he said warmly, still bleary-eyed from attempted sleep. 

“Can I interest you in some room temperature banana bread batter?” She said with a resigned chuckle, gesturing to the baking pan on the counter. 

“I’ve had worse birthday meals,” he said, walking across the room and gathering her into an appreciative hug. She buried her face in his shoulder, blotting it in flour. “I once spent my birthday as a hostage on a whaling vessel and I can assure you, the food didn’t look nearly this good.”

 


	5. Naked in My Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to fulfill fic prompt: "Is there a reason why you're naked in my bed?"

Liz had a long, strange history with hot tubs. Once, in high school she went to a friend’s party, and along with about 6 other kids in drama club contracted something called hot tub folliculitis. This is what happens when the host of said party is a 16 year old whose parents were out of town. And when said teenager had also never heard that you can’t just fill a hot tub with hose water and no mitigating chemicals. 

But the experience did not dissuade her. And at least a handful of times she had soaked in them for too long. She would luxuriate in the steaming water until she was feeling faint, dehydrated and prune-y. On two such occasions, she ever lost upon exit, something about blood pressure and sweating for too long. But it was as if she couldn’t help herself; she would convince herself, even after an hour in the bubbling comfort of the water, that the light headedness was probably from something else. 

She knew she was in trouble when she saw the hotel suite. Red had claimed it was the only room available at his contact’s hotel, but the fact that it was a honeymoon suite rankled her already tested nerves. Days upon days they had been in the car together and she was disappointed to not have her own room, her own space. Until of course she saw the chilled champagne… the two king sized beds… the gorgeous, green-lit Jacuzzi. 

Red hadn’t been gone on his errand for five minutes before she was kicking off her shoes and stripping out of her clothes. Pulling her shirt over her head, she eyed the jet she knew would be perfect on the knot in her back. It was at just the right height. All the driving had her feeling tense and wound. She popped the bottle of champagne open, eyeing the clock while she padded barefoot and naked to the bubbling water. 

“I have an hour,” she mumbled to herself. She buried herself neck deep in the coolly lit warmth and inhaled the scent of the bromine. She knew it wasn’t supposed to smell pleasant but she had always loved it. She drank the cold, bubbly champagne straight from the bottle, holding it by the neck and letting the tingling liquid wash down her parched throat. It was pure, hedonistic glory and she needed it so badly. 

She didn’t remember getting out… but she must have. The duvet cover of the bed was slick under her still-wet skin, the dampness mingling with the air conditioning chilled her skin. Her face was smashed against the soft pillows, nearly suffocating herself in their airy softness.

“Lizzie…” 

She lifted her head up groggily to find Red standing in the doorway to the bedroom, grocery bags in hand. His eyes unabashedly settled on her backside - her ass, as it was, face up and glistening like a canned halved-pear. 

“Oh my god…” she said, surveying the scene around her and making a frenzied effort to cover herself. 

“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?” he asked, his head tilted like a curious puppy. 

She glanced over to the hot tub - the wet trail of footprints leading to the bed and the champagne bottle lying empty on its side on the tile. 

“I spent too long in the hot tub.” She muttered, the sheets clutched in fists under her chin. 

“Well,” Red said, casually. “Next time you decide to skinny dip in the hot tub with a bottle of champagne, I’ll have to ask that you have a lifeguard present.”

She groaned, throwing the sheets over herself entirely. 

“Reminds me of the summer I spent lifeguarding at Lake Geneva. Luckily for you I’ve kept my certification!”


	6. Feel the Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to fulfill fic prompt: "I want to feel the rain"

The rain pounded the windshield relentlessly and danced, glittering, in the headlights. The road hummed under them and for a few miles now, they had listened to it instead of the radio; the reception had given out when they reached the interstate. She had been dozing, off and on, with Red driving most of the way. 

“I can feel myself getting a little sleepy,” he said, his voice trailing off into a yawn. “Maybe it will help to go outside, feel the rain a bit.”  
  
“We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you want to stop,” she said, her voice incredulous, “and  _feel_ the rain. You’re going to get soaked to the bone.”

“No, Lizzie,  _we_ are going to get soaked to the bone.”

“Like hell!” she protested, drawing her sweater around her at the very thought of it. “I’m fine thank you.” Despite her objection, he pulled the car to the side of the road. 

“C’mon Lizzie, live a little.” His voice was jovial and it grated on her. She supposed that if nothing else it might serve to wake her up a bit. She blinked against the driving wind and the raindrops that stung her cheeks. Red turned his face skyward and smiled into the darkness above them framed by the impenetrable fortresses of trees that flanked the road. How like him to resign himself to the chaos, to revel in it even, as she shuddered against the elements. 

He looked over at her, a shivering, dripping mess. He let out a chuckle and moved to wrap her in a hug, her arms still crushed tight against her body. 

“What’s that old saying about learning to dance in the rain,” he said, and she felt his chest rumble against her. 

“Are you going to dance for me?” she asked. 

“I would dance  _with_ you,” he said, playfully. She shifted her weight only slightly back and forth from one foot to the other, a sarcastic little dance of protest. 

“I’ll take it,” he said, and she smiled against his rain-soaked shirt. 

“Good, because that’s all your getting. Now get back in the car, I’ve had enough whimsy for the next 100 miles.” 

 


	7. Epidural

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to fulfill fic prompt: "I could give you a massage"

“Is there anything I can do, Elizabeth?” he asked earnestly, her hand clamping down on his with a force that made him wince. She was red-faced and had taken only a brief break from cursing his name. 

“You know what you can do for me,” she said, through gritted teeth. He knew immediately that what followed would not be a polite request. “You can build me a time machine, Red. A real nice one. And you can dial it back 9 months from now. And when you get there, and we’re in that safe house drinking brandy… you can-” but her voice was wracked with a contraction, a low guttural moan unlike anything he had ever heard. 

And just like the others, it passed, leaving her red-faced and drenched in sweat. One day he would tell her, when she was in a state of mind to believe him, just how in love with her he was in that moment. How magnificent and wild she had looked giving birth to their son. 

But not today. Timing may not have been his forte, but discretion was. 

He couldn’t shake the feeling that there must be something he could do for her. 

“Do you… well… I mean… I could give you a massage?”

“HOW ABOUT INSTEAD YOU GET ME THE FUCKING EPIDURAL.” 

 


	8. Snowballs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to fulfill the prompt: Red and Liz get into a snowball fight

An appendix. Months on the road and assumed identities and their first true run in wasn’t with the FBI or someone looking to cash in on the bounty… it was a fucking appendix. For hours she tried to convince Red that it was nothing, but when he started turning increasingly pallid and sweaty, she began to worry. At the rural hospital near their safe house it was entirely possible that word of their escape had not yet reached the town. She paced nervously as she watched the televisions in the lobby while Red had his appendix out. She was anxious for word from the doctor… but she also knew that they were racing the clock. Luckily the receptionist seemed to be ignoring the TV - and Liz was able to focus on the closed captions on the old re-runs of Golden Girls relatively stress-free. 

Finally the doctor called her back and she jumped to her feet. 

“Will he be able to discharge soon?” she asked, trying not to sound suspiciously anxious. 

“Physically yes, but he’s still a little loopy. Give him a couple of hours and he’ll be good as new but for now… well, you’ll see what I mean.”

As she expected, Red was smiley and bleary-eyed. 

“Hey,” she said, her voice soft. She took his hand as she sat on the stiff armchair next to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh I’m feeling alright. The chill, though! They’re letting all the snow in, keeping these windows open. It’s ridiculous.”

She looked around to see all the windows closed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Great. He was this kind of anesthesia patient. 

“For god’s sake it’s really piling up,” he said, looking around. 

“Red, I don’t mean to alarm you but you need to get your shit together and quick. We have to get out of here before anyone recognizes us.”

He did not so much as glance in her direction but, instead, pulled the blankets on his bed up around his shoulders. She craned her neck around the corner and the TV was still on The Golden Girls - the nightly news long over. She sighed… she might as well enjoy his mood while it lasted. 

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him brushing something off his blanket… oh god. It was the imaginary snow. …This would be too good to pass up. She began to help him brush off the imaginary snow and he sat back, allowing her to continue. He watched her closely as she began to pantomime packing a snowball. 

“Lizzie,” he said, warning. 

“What?” she said, too much innocence in her voice. 

“Don’t,” he said. 

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t you dare throw that snowba- goddamnit!” he said, flinching as she pretended to hurl a snowball at his chest. She doubled over laughing which seemed to confuse him even further. He brought his hand to his face and seemed to only find his own skin, warm to the touch. Liz could hardly catch her breath from laughing. 

“That does it,” Red said. “I want whatever they gave you - whatever’s in this drip is no good.”

 


	9. Outside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to fulfill fic prompts: "You did WHAT?" and "Boo!"

“Boo,” a voice said from behind her. She’d heard his feet approaching behind her so it wasn’t as if he was trying to startle her. She turned around to greet him with a tranquil smile. “What are you doing out here by yourself?”

“This weather just reminds me of Nebraska,” she said. “Thought it might be nice to soak up something a little familiar.” 

It was evening at the little cabin where they had stopped for the night and the sun had already set. Pink and orange clouds were giving way to beautiful, gradient blues, a few twinkling stars beginning to pepper the sky. 

“I’m sorry to have taken you away from everything familiar to you, Lizzie,” he said, his voice troubled and low. “I know you understand that it’s for your own safety, but I hope you know that I realize how difficult it is.”

“It’s not so bad,” she said, taking a small step toward him. “For better or worse, you are familiar to me Red.” 

“In sickness and in health?” he said, playfully. 

“I guess in those too,” she said, a laugh bubbling up in her chest. They were so close now, her eyes turned up to meet his. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, shaking his head with an expression that almost looked like worry. 

“I know I don’t,” she said, placing her hand on his chest. She felt his breath quicken under her touch. “But I am.” The dying daylight cast a cool pallor over his face, softening his features. “Thank you.” She placed a gentle kiss to his cheek, but unlike before she felt him wilt a bit under her touch. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“While you’re in such a charitable mood,” he said, looking at the ground. “Perhaps now would be the best time to tell  you that I came out here because I think I locked the keys in the cabin.”

“YOU DID WHAT?”

 


	10. Agnes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to fulfill the fic prompt: "I'm in love with you... and I'm terrified"

As reluctant as she had been to loosen her grasp on the baby, she conceded that sleep was necessary. It had been the very definition of a long day - seemingly unending hours of nurses, doctors, monitors beeping… and all the while Red had been at her side, his hand crushed inside hers. She had no recollection of all the things she screamed at him, but she knew they were both numerous and punishing. For months, she had playfully blamed him for every ache she experienced associated with carrying his child… squirreling away her best material for when she started pushing. It had helped, as much as anything could.

She awoke in a sleepy fog, and there he was, swaying back and forth in front of the window, bathed in the dying light of evening - a soft, delicate head of sparse hair just visible over the plush green blanket in his arms. At first his muttering was indistinct, his voice uncharacteristically soft and silken. She listened for a moment to the tender whispering of a father to his child. 

“I know we’ve only just met, but god I remember this feeling so well,” he said in a whisper, his voice low and shaken. “Such a contradiction of emotion, but I know no other way to describe it. I’m in love with you… and I’m terrified.”

 


	11. I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pregnant Liz has trouble letting Red pump is own gas after the incident with The Kings of the Highway. (Fulfills the "I Love You" prompt #26.)

_This is where he disappeared_. Of course, it wasn’t _really_ but it’s all she could think of as they approached the nearly day-lit bay of gas pumps. It was dusk and nearing dark, and her heart thudded against her ribs, the pressure of it swirling behind her eyes as she pressed them closed. _Try not to think about it. You’re being fucking ridiculous, Liz._

 

Red didn’t need protection, he was a grown man more capable of defending himself than she was likely aware. She reminded herself again and again. _This is silly. This is so silly; you’re just pregnant and hysterical_. That neon green and orange sign had been sparking anxiety in her ever since he was taken from her by the Kings of the Highway in that middle of nowhere gas station… and the hormones did nothing to temper her remembrance of the terror she felt when she had gone outside to find him… gone.

 

She knew they’d have to find gas at some point. Up until now, Red would indulge her hysterics on the rare occasions that they needed to go to a gas station together, and he would allow her to pump the gas while he pretended to be busy in the car. He knew that her irrational fear of being left at a gas station was likely due to the surging of hormones and he had hoped that going away for a few days would alleviate some of the pressure. 

 

Liz thought the idea of a “Babymoon” was ridiculous; until the long days at the office irritated her feet and ankles and caused them to swell beyond recognition. But Red had worn her down - he wanted just as badly as she did to leave everything behind, to go out to the ocean and sit by the deary winter sea until everything around them fell away. They could eat dinner every night by the fireplace and pretend to be a normal couple, expecting their first child. It was a welcome respite now that every part of her felt stretched to capacity and pulled toward him constantly. It made working together difficult; especially around so many people who simply assumed that Tom was the father. No one had asked. And logically it had been a blessing. But some days she wanted to scream it out loud and in wild feverish moments she considered it. 

 

_This baby isn’t Tom’s. She is Red’s._

 

Red carefully took off his sunglasses, now unnecessary in the twilight, and placed them on the console. Even though he was looking straight ahead out of the driver’s seat, she could feel his eyes squint in concentration. 

 

“Are you going to be alright this time, Lizzie?” he asked, not reaching for the door handle. Instead he pressed his palms against his thighs, making no move that might jostle her into an anxious fit. “It’s just a gas station. I will be fine. I have been pumping gas longer than you’ve been alive and have made it out unscathed an overwhelming majority of the time.”

 

“It’s infinitely more dangerous for you to patronize me right now,” she said, her eyes shut against the prickling, irrational tears that had been sprouting at the drop of a hat for weeks. He mumbled an acknowledgement as they sat together in silence and she gained back composure. 

 

“I’m getting out now,” he said in a whisper, moving slowly like he was trying to sneak up on a bird. 

 

“Can I just do it, please?” she asked, giving him her best doe-eyes, though from his reaction she could tell she’d gone right past Disney-princess and straight to ill-concealed daggers. 

 

“No, you can’t,” he said sternly. “It was fine the first three months, but you’re well into your second trimester now and I can’t have you waddling around the car to pump gas while I look like some kind of cad, allowing you to wait on me like an attendant. It’s going to be fine, it’s just the hormones, Lizzie. I’ll be right here the whole time, you know that.”

 

She took a deep breath and let the air whoosh past her lips as she exhaled. 

 

“I don’t waddle,” she said, knowing that it wasn’t exactly true. 

 

“I wouldn’t let you pump my gas in your condition even if you did it with the grace of a gazelle,” he said. He waited a moment for her eyes to meet his and they nodded at each other. Her eyes still felt misty… but she’d manage. 

 

As the door handle popped open she felt herself clutch the sleeve of his jacket and he turned toward her again. 

 

“I love you,” she said. 

 

“I love you too… you ridiculous, ridiculous woman,” he said, leaning over to kiss her sweetly. “I’ll be right back.”

 

As the door closed behind him she shouted "But you'd better stay where I can see you!"


	12. A Cup of Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fulfills "I love you" themed prompt # 4 - "over a cup of tea"

Liz wondered when she had lost the knack for leisure - she had never been particularly good at relaxing but sitting by the crackling fire with her feet up seemed very strange now. This sort of quiet morning was everything that she had dreamed a normal couple with a normal life might do on a Sunday morning. She wondered if, at some point, she’d be capable of leaning into the feeling a bit, allowing herself to silence the little voices in her head that nagged at her, reminding her that there must be _something_ to do. 

This morning Red started a fire early and before she was up, he had already fixed a pot of tea. Their steaming mugs sat next to each other on the side table between their respective couches. Red had his nose buried in the newspaper, close enough that she could hear him breathe slowly over the soft music. She sat quietly, looking at the fire and listening to some of the music Red had played for her last night. She could get used to jazz. 

She curled her feet up on the couch and reached for a free section of paper that Red had laid on the coffee table. The warmth from the fire filled the room with the pleasant smell of woodsmoke and the wafting sweetness of newsprint being turned and folded and settled. 

_It could be like this forever_ , she thought to herself - her eyes fluttered closed for a moment longer than a blink, to make sure it was imprinted in her memory. When the siren song of work and city life and questions and responsibility inevitably called in a few days, she wanted to be able to recall this feeling like a book dogeared at a favorite passage. A simple life with him. The peace of her own thoughts. Tea by the fire and pleasant conversation until the morning gave way to whatever activity they wished. 

She practiced the words in her head first - imagining them over and over. Because at this moment she felt it so keenly, so sweetly. Without noticing, she was breathing in time with the cadence of the syllables, her lips beginning to flex and curve as the words she was thinking of manifested themselves bit by tiny bit. 

_The next time he turns the page. Just say it._

The crinkling rasp of newsprint drew the words out of her. 

“I love you,” she said. 

For a moment he was still and then the utter joy of it spread across his lips. 

“I love you too, Elizabeth,” he said. 

He put down his paper, and reached for their cups. He kissed her gently. 

“More tea?” he asked. 

She nodded. 

_It could be like this forever._


	13. Bearing Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fulfilling a prompt asking for a fic where Liz decides, because of the smallest thing that she loves Red and takes a chance kissing him, given her impulsive tendencies.

Liz almost didn’t hear the light tap on her door as it blended in near seamlessly with the rain pattering on the window. She tip toed quietly past Agnes’ crib, noticing that she was beginning to squirm herself awake. Through the peephole she could see the brim of a down-turned hat, a frequent and unexpectedly welcome sight these days. She opened the door to find Red, stooped just a bit as if he was showing some symbolic effort to be as small and unobtrusive as possible; yet he was wearing a wide smile that she didn’t suspect was entirely for her.

“I come bearing gifts,” he said in a whisper, producing two small boxes of graduating size from behind his back, tied together delicately with ribbon. She gestured into the small living room of her apartment, inviting him to come in with a nod and a warm smile. He placed the little gifts on the table as Liz took his hat and coat, still cool and damp from the rain. 

“She should be waking up any time now,” Liz said, following behind Red as he gravitated toward the crib, pulled into the little orbit that Agnes seemed to emit just for him. There was a subtle but sure bond between the two of them that had not gone unnoticed by Liz. At first it had dismayed her to see her innocent, little newborn so taken by a man as dangerous as Red, but she saw that instead of their interactions corrupting Agnes in some way, it instead changed Red’s entire aura to be near her. Whenever he approached her, it was as though they were greeting each other like old friends falling back into a familiar kinship after being apart for a lifetime. The more she witnessed Agnes laying waste to Red’s composed veneer, she more she found herself softening toward him herself. 

“Has she slept long enough?” he asked, stepping away and looking to Liz for permission to greet her. “I don’t want to interrupt. I know the sleep pattern is a delicate cycle.” Liz laughed and nodded her head; after all it wasn’t as if he was going to leave if Agnes needed more sleep anyway. She and Red had spent plenty of time in recent weeks drinking their respective cups of coffee, gazing into the crib and talking in hushed voices. He had become an unexpected resource for baby tips, though they felt bittersweet when Liz recalled what little she knew of his family. But it wasn’t anything she was picking up from him; he seemed quite comfortable lending a hand warming bottles and adjusting little crooked socks as if it were second nature.

Agnes’ eyes fluttered open and she began to squirm, grasping aimlessly into the air with soft little hands and searching fingers.

“Hi baby girl,” Liz said, softly and sweetly, taking in a gasp as if she were surprised to see her. “Your favorite person is here.”   
  
“I brought you a surprise,” he said, putting his hand in the crib so that Agnes could grasp tight to his finger, like a little greeting handshake. 

“You can open it,” he said to Liz, tilting his head toward the brightly lit boxes on the table, his feet rooted to the spot where Agnes seemed to demand he stay. 

“Well, yes I figured I would. She’s a bright kid but we’re still working on manual dexterity,” she said, chiding him. 

“Your mother thinks she’s funny,” he said to Agnes, his voice a low gravelly hum. “And I don’t think she’s having much trouble in the grip department anyway. Three months old and I think she’d be nearly capable of cutting off circulation to my fingertip if she felt like it.”

“She saves it just for you. Establishing dominance, probably,” Liz joked as she picked up the smallest box. 

“Just like her mother,” he replied. 

She popped off the glittery bows and ribbons, and ran her finger under the tape. The paper was a gorgeously embossed royal purple with tiny flowers creeping up in tendrils and swirls. She opened the box to find a neatly folded onesie, in a crisp and beautiful white. Across the front, spelled out in navy blue block letters read “THE FUTURE IS FEMALE”. He must have heard her mention this t-shirt campaign to Aram a few days prior, when he’d been looking for a birthday gift for Samar.

“This is so perfect,” she said, beaming, holding up the little garment to admire it. “And very true. You sure know how to appeal to the infant feminist,” she said. 

“There’s one for you in the other box,” he said, never quite looking away from Agnes. It was hard to deny that the way he looked at her made him almost unrecognizable. She had never seen him so animated, a broad smile plumping the apples of his cheeks and creating little crinkles next to his nose. Whenever she was touching him, Agnes’ eyes would blink slowly and heavily, comfortable and content enough to drift off to sleep knowing that he wouldn’t need his finger back so long as she was holding it.  

“Thank you so much,” Liz said, finally catching Red’s eye. “Thank you for everything.” He nodded earnestly, chewing the corner of his lip. 

“You’re very welcome,” he said. “Thank you for allowing me to see her. I know it hasn’t exactly been an easy decision for you.” His voice was hesitant and halting, searching for the words he wanted carefully. 

Liz closed the distance between them with one small step and still grasping Agnes’ onesie in one hand, placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. When she felt his body relax just a bit under her touch, she laid a reassuring palm against his cheek and softly covered his lips with hers, leaving a languid, slow kiss in the air between them. And then another. 

“I know what she means to you,” she said, resting her cheek against his. “Thank you for being patient with me.” He gathered her into his arms, holding her close to him until they began to sway ever-so-slightly together. 

A soft cooing from Agnes’ crib roused both of them from moment, and Liz smiled, knowing exactly what she wanted. 

“I should have known she wouldn’t let you stand there for long without paying attention to her,” she said, smiling. 

“May I?” Red asked, although it was hardly necessary now. 

“Of course.”


End file.
